


Insignificant

by lindsey_grissom



Series: Crystal Heart [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-31
Updated: 2008-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-10 14:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU look at Jack's conception.  First in the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/3978">Crystal Heart</a> 'Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insignificant

A sharp stab and the needle pushes passed the membrane, its contents release before the metal object is withdrawn. There are moments of silence, a stillness that hasn't disappeared even after centuries of the same procedure. Then a reaction, one they finally understand, and the cells are splitting, dividing, multiplying. And in the sterile grey room, third partition in a line of nine, in one line of hundreds; child B14593Y is created.

Nurses move amongst the rows. Clipboards noting every change in condition, listing times and dates. White light glints off of the thousands of dishes. Movement on the left and a door is opened. A doctor, then more nurses, and then an entire row is moved from the room. Across the corridor, the row of dishes is pushed into a larger room, a series of webs and synthetic wombs. The dishes are separated, one placed before each empty womb and then needles appear once more. Further down the wombs are larger, stretched and, silhouetted by the light of the two suns, figures lay curled. Small limbs clenching and unclenching as they grow, blood pumping in red and blue lines.

A shrill alarm blares and more doctors come rushing. A womb; row five hundred, forth from the left is bowing, bending with the pressure of the life within. Mere seconds and the womb is cut, water pours into a drain and then a child's scream fills the air as a cord is cut.

The womb is cut from the web and transferred for recycling, the child passed from one set of hands to another. The touches are medical, impersonal. Detached. And then it is brought to a third room, a wall of glass covers one side and people walk up and down, their eyes searching, calculating. A tap of their finger against a pad, and the child is selected. Crib after crib is raised, their contents shifting in discontent. A nurse removes each selected child, noting the number and matching it with those on the outside. A signature, a biological print and then the child is handed over to its new parents. There is no need to tell of the original donors, they have already read the biological history. Have already chosen this one for all the qualities they want.

The nurses watch as the parents and children leave the hospice. Some will grow up loved and cherished; others will be used as tools to be yielded by their parents. They watch with a disinterested air. What happens to the children after they leave is of no concern to them. They are only responsible for conception to birth. Everything after is insignificant.


End file.
